Helm

  BIG MISTAKE.

  Dobson’s shoulder and the side of this head crashed into the grass floor and his body folded on top of him, landing in an awkward heap.

  Leland stood and backed away from the man, waiting for him to get up, but he didn’t.

  Roland gestured and McCain went forward, bending by Dobson’s side.

  “Dobson? You can get up now.” He frowned when there was no response. He moved forward slowly, then eased the body over.

  Leland felt the blood drain from his face. I didn’t mean to…

  Dobson stared at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, his neck folded over at an unnatural angle.

  IT WAS AN ACCIDENT…BUT I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL.

  McCain looked at Leland and raised his eyebrows before standing and saying loudly, “His neck is broken. He’s dead.”

  Roland brushed his hands together as if removing dust and said in a voice suddenly iron hard, “Thank you for coming. That will be all for now.”

  Leland remained standing by the body as the chiefs and commanders filed out. Then, when the guards pulled the tent flaps closed, leaving only Roland, McCain, and the guards who’d brought him into the tent, Leland turned to the side and vomited.

  McCain took a step toward him and Leland’s voice was savage. “Get away from me!”

  Perhaps he was afraid of getting vomited on or, perhaps it was the clear reminder of Dobson’s body, lying there—in any case, McCain blinked and took a step away.

  Roland walked back to a small table by his chair and poured liquid from a pitcher into a tall mug. He brought it back and held it out to Leland. “Rinse your mouth,” he said.

  Leland thought about striking the mug from his hand but the taste in his mouth changed his mind. He took it and filled his mouth—wine. He swished it around his teeth, then spat it onto the grass.

  “So,” said Roland, “didn’t mean to kill him, eh?”

  Leland shook his head.

  Roland nodded. “Well, I’ll not lie to you. You just saved me a great deal of trouble. Humiliation is more what I had in mind, but this works on so many more levels. He’s dead and, in a sense, it was in combat, against the enemy. Not an execution. His clan won’t be as inclined to make trouble with me, and I know his heir won’t—the man couldn’t stand Dobson.”

  Leland stared at the body and didn’t say anything.

  Roland slapped Leland on the back. “Don’t look so glum, boy. The world is a better place without him—he was the most aggressive of my chiefs. If he had his way we would be at war with your people year round on all borders—not just the plain.”

  Leland swallowed convulsively and looked away.

  Roland said, “You’d think you’d never killed a man before.”

  Leland said bitterly, “Thousands. One a day, before breakfast, to get the blood…flowing.”

  Roland stared at him. “Your first, was it?”

  Leland shrugged.

  Roland pointed to the corpse and said, “McCain, have these men deliver the body to his heir. Put him on a litter and hold it high, like a returning hero. You go—tell him that the funeral will be at daybreak, all clan chiefs attending. Send notice to them all, then join me in my quarters.”

  McCain nodded toward Leland. “Do you want me to fetch more men?” Roland shook his head.

  One of the guards opened his mouth, as if to protest, and Roland pointed at Leland and snarled, “Go! You want me to sic him on you?”

  The guards lifted Dobson’s body and left.

  Roland sighed and looked down at the spot Dobson’s body had occupied. “In a way, child, you brought this on yourself. Dobson wouldn’t have moved for the throne if you hadn’t snatched me away. All our actions have unexpected consequences.”

  Leland gritted his teeth. You didn’t have to create that confrontation.

  Roland may have sensed the thought. “You’ve used me to your ends. Now I’ve done the same to you. See how you like it.” He led the way through the back of the tent into a smaller tented room. Here the floor was covered with a patchwork of carpet and sheepskins.

  “Now,” said Roland, letting the tent flap close behind them, “tell me why you’ve come.”

  Leland was escorted back to his makeshift bridge on horseback by McCain and a troop of archers.

  The trip across the log was easier this time. Leland had too many things on his mind to worry about falling. Gahnfeld watched him as he stepped off the trunk, worried, and Leland said, “Go on to step two.”

  “They’ll let us?” He sounded surprised. “You looked so grim coming across…”

  “Just the bridge, so far. They want independent confirmation of my information before we go to the next stage.”

  Gahnfeld’s face fell. “That could take days!”

  Leland smiled. “Hours. They have heliographs, too, and agents-in-place. We should have an answer by the midmorning conference.”

  Gahnfeld turned. “Coronet Sanchez!”

  “Sir!”

  “My compliments to the halvidars of the First, Second, Fourth, and Eighth Hundreds. I need them and their men for some engineering work. On the double.”

  Zanna took a deep breath before guiding her horse into the ford. She remembered a story about an Italian river that, once crossed, committed one to an irreversible course.

  Is this my Rubicon?

  She, de Gant, and Leland had a small escort consisting of de Gant’s aides and some of her personal guard—nothing, really, when compared to the forces waiting them on the other side. They rode out of the water and up the bank to where McCain waited with an honor guard of two hundred.

  He bowed in the saddle and indicated the way. The party moved on and the honor guard closed around them like a hand.

  Zanna remembered that their first meeting with Roland had been the result of a forcible abduction. Had the tables been reversed?

  McCain dropped back beside them, by Leland, and Zanna heard Leland say, “Quite an honor guard.”

  McCain nodded. “You are our guests. It wouldn’t do for anything to happen to you while in our care.”

  Leland lowered his voice and Zanna edged her horse closer. “—Any danger of that?”

  “I doubt it, but, just in case…If some faction, however small, wanted to spike these talks, violating your safe passage would do it, no?”

  Leland glanced back at Zanna and smiled thinly. In a normal voice he said, “And how was this morning’s…ceremony?”

  McCain laughed. “Well attended. All honors due a great man. His Majesty expressed his hope that no other clan chiefs would die this year. The bier was like a mountain.” He pointed to the southwest. “You can still see the smoke.”

  Zanna followed his finger and saw a dark smudge of smoke rising beyond a gentle hill. “Who was the deceased?” she asked.

  The corners of Leland’s mouth turned down and he said, “The Cricket Clan has a new chieftain.”

  Zanna blinked. Roland didn’t waste any time. I wonder if that message is also for us? “My condolences on your people’s loss,” she said dryly.

  McCain bowed in the saddle. “We’ll bear up somehow.”

  They were taken to a heavily guarded encampment with several large tents, but most of them were being dismantled. As she dismounted Zanna caught Leland’s eye and inclined her head toward the latrines at the edge of camp. “Are those…?”

  Leland nodded.

  McCain pulled back the flap on the largest tent and Leland groaned out loud. “It would have to be this one.”

  De Gant frowned. “Something the matter, Warden?”

  Leland took a deep breath. “No, Marshall.”

  Zanna entered first and straightened as she saw the men assembled around the edge of the tent. Leland and de Gant were right behind her. McCain motioned them to wait, just inside the door.

  Roland entered the tent from the far side, a younger man, dressed in the sash and leathers of a clan chieftain, just behind him. Everyone in the room bowed and he walked across the
space, spreading his arms. “Welcome.”

  The three bowed in response and Zanna said, “Your Majesty honors us.”

  Roland grinned widely and said, “It costs me nothing to be polite.” He turned to the young man beside him. “Allow me to present the Cricket, Donald Dobson, newly come to his office.” To the new clan chief he said, “The Gentle Guide Zanna de Noram, heir to the Stewardship of Noram, Marshall Cornelius de Gant, Commander of the Noram Allied Forces, and Warden Leland de Laal, Captain of the Laal forces and”—Roland cleared his throat—“architect of these talks.”

  Zanna looked around at Leland and found him staring at a spot on the grassy floor. He looked up, though, at Roland’s words and blushed.

  The Cricket bowed to them. “Honored.” He turned specifically to Leland and said, “My thanks.”

  Leland sputtered, “It was not my intention—”

  The Cricket interrupted him. “I know. His Majesty explained this to me. Nevertheless, thank you. My great-uncle was a dangerous man and almost threw our people into a civil war.”

  Zanna frowned. What on earth are they talking about?

  Before she could ask, Roland said, “If we had the time, I would introduce the rest of my clan chiefs. I’m afraid our talks today will have to be very brief.”

  Zanna’s frown intensified. “Has your Majesty reconsidered negotiations?”

  Roland laughed. “Oh, no. In fact, as a gesture of goodwill, I’m removing my forces from this front and will also commit to no offensive actions against Noram for the remainder of this winter.”

  Zanna’s surprise was total. “That is generous, your Majesty. What do you expect of Noram in return?” She glanced sideways at her companions to gauge their reactions. De Gant was watching Roland with narrowed eyes. Leland’s head lifted suddenly, as if he were drawing in a large breath.

  Roland shook his head. “Nothing, really. Refrain from any offensives of your own. And give serious consideration to my proposal for the future dispensation of the Sacred Plain.”

  De Gant, a suspicious look on his face, said, “And that is?”

  Roland looked at Leland and smiled slightly. “Well, if this were a long, protracted negotiation, I’d start by asking for all of the Sacred Plain and, in a couple of months, end up settling for half. Instead, I propose the creation of a neutral free-trade zone consisting of the entire plain, farmed by representatives of every nation on Agatsu, who would be free to sell their produce to any customer, regardless of origin.”

  De Gant frowned. “We have the entire plain right now. Why should we give up portions to other countries?”

  “The cost,” said Roland. “In blood. The cost of holding the plain year after year after year. If I lead my people away from the plain this year without a fight, without a single square kilometer of the plain, next year we’ll be back with our full forces—not just the young coming to be tested, but our veterans, our reserves, serious men, slow to start, impossible to stop. And we’ll not stop at the Black, either. Such an effort would require more reward than the plain itself.”

  De Gant said angrily, “If you think—”

  Zanna held up her hand. “Gently, Marshall. His Majesty isn’t talking about what he intends to do. He’s talking about what his people are likely to do if this negotiation yields nothing for them. I suspect Roland does not expect to be in power if that were to happen.”

  Roland smiled. “You have it, Gentle Guide. My people are just as serious about the Sacred Plain as yours. If I give it up without a fight, it could mean my downfall. The offensive would follow.”

  De Gant subsided. “I see. Still, why should it be anybody but Nullarbor and Noramland?”

  Roland glanced at Leland before saying, “It was suggested to me that the plain is the heritage of all humans on this planet.” He looked back at de Gant. “Besides, as a practical consequence, the more involved in keeping it a neutral zone, the better. If it were just the two of us, a conflict could cause the outbreak of hostilities. Add Yukifuri and Kai Lung and Nouvelle France to the mix and you end up with a more stable configuration.”

  Zanna said, “And Cotswold?”

  Roland’s eyes crinkled. “Sure. Any national entity that exists when this agreement is finalized.”

  “How much of the plain goes to each country?” Zanna said.

  Roland shrugged. “This will have to be settled, but Yukifuri is tiny and Noramland is large. Nullarbor is almost as large as Noramland but your population is greater. If you agree to the first part of my plan, then the division would be the subject of our next meeting. I suggest we meet at the solstice—three months from now, where the shuttles stand. And we invite every nation.”

  Zanna took a deep breath and held it, thinking hard. Unless the Rootless broke this agreement, it definitely secured the plain for another year and, if Roland was serious about his proposition, maybe it ended the perennial conflict for good. She exhaled sharply and said, “Very well. I’ll submit your proposal to my father with my full support.”

  Roland spread his hands apart. “I couldn’t ask more.”

  You most certainly could. “Does that complete our business?”

  Roland bowed and offered his arm to Zanna, escorting her out of the tent. The rest followed. There was another exchange of courtesies and then the horses were brought up.

  As Zanna mounted, she saw Leland just coming out of the tent talking to the new clan chieftain of the Crickets. Leland looked around, saw Zanna and de Gant mounting, and bowed quickly to the Cricket, then hurried to mount.

  Except to thank McCain, who commanded their escort back to the Ganges, Zanna didn’t speak until they were well across and surrounded only by their own troops.

  “Do you think he means it?” she finally said to de Gant and Leland, riding to each side of her.

  Leland said, “I believe so.”

  De Gant said, “I’ve faced him during prisoner exchange talks five times—twice when they took the plain and three times when we took it. He’s never said one thing and done another. He’s always kept his word. I think he’ll do as he says.”

  Zanna rode on for a while without speaking. When they made the turn into the headquarters lane, she finally spoke. “Okay. I’ll ride for the capital immediately, using the relays. Marshall, report my departure to my father and tell him I’ll brief him completely on arrival. Monitor Roland’s forces and report any movement.” She turned to Leland. “I’ll make inquiries about Laal. Surely there’ll be some news if Cotswold’s broken the peace.”

  Leland nodded. “I appreciate that. If they have invaded and this is not common knowledge in Noram City, someone is blocking the news…”

  Zanna completed the sentence in her head. Like my father. She didn’t say anything though. If Cotswold broke the peace, then Noram’s reserves should be moving to Laal’s relief. If this cease-fire with Roland succeeded, all of Noram’s forces could march to their aid.

  Unless my father’s done something incredibly stupid.

  Leland and his escort left the headquarters compound at the trot, but the minute they were out of sight, Leland put his heels to his mount’s sides and shot ahead. The troops behind struggled to catch up. They reached their camp in twenty minutes.

  Except for a few perimeter sentries and a row of empty wagons, the camp was deserted, tents gone, firepits filled. Leland pushed on into the trees and found the men resting, in ranks beside their tethered horses. He passed them and came to the cliff.

  Another tree, parallel to the first, stretched across the gorge. Saplings, cut and trimmed, had been spiked and lashed across, forming a flooring for the bridge. Next, hay and straw had been packed into the crevices, and last, dirt carried on shields by a long line of men was being dumped onto the straw. Four men with a makeshift roller, a short section of tree trunk almost a meter in diameter, were packing the dirt into the cracks.

  Gahnfeld held the head of Leland’s horse as he dismounted, eyes asking the question.

  Leland just gave him a sh
arp nod and said, “When can we cross?”

  Gahnfeld made a fist and raised it in the air. “Yes! Twenty minutes. Let them finish tamping it down and get the guard lines strung.”

  Leland looked across the gorge. When he’d left this morning, the Rootless had lined the other side, bows strung. Now there were only four of them, dismounted, watching the construction as they rested.

  For a brief paranoid moment he pictured Roland’s forces, waiting, hidden by the trees, until the Eight Hundred crossed, and falling on them, then using the bridge to launch a surprise attack on the Noram troops.

  RELAX. WHAT CHOICE DO YOU HAVE?

  None.

  “Halvidar Miyamoto,” he called.

  The woman approached him and saluted.

  “Have you coordinated with my signalmen?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve sent the instructions. My people are moving south, near the border. The line will still be intact back to Apsheron and, if you’re within fifty kilometers of the Black, you should be able to signal us.”

  “Right. And we’re using the new code?”

  She nodded. “With an offset. Even if they capture it in Laal, without the offset they won’t be able to break it.”

  He held out his hand and she shook it. “Get going. Once we cross this bridge, we’re deserters. I don’t want them to pick you up as one of us.”

  “Good luck, sir.”

  “And the same to you.”

  She mounted her horse and left, walking it quietly through the woods.

  The men with the roller finished, then Gahnfeld detailed four squads from the Seventh to march back and forth across the bridge while another group of men strung rope along both sides, using branches left on the tree trunks for this purpose.

  There was a moment of excitement as one of the marchers found a hole and his leg dropped down through the bridge, showering dirt into the river below. His mates pulled him out and the hole was patched with large rocks, then covered again.

  Coronet Sanchez threw his poncho over his horse’s head and led the mount across. The flooring held.

  Leland covered his horse's head and said to Gahnfeld, “Space them four meters apart but double-time them. It’s probably going to take over an hour as it is. Recall the sentries when we’re down to the last fifty men.”